


Green, Blue, Gold

by zombiekittiez



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, Language, blast from the past, bughead - Freeform, reggiecentric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:44:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: “Reggie's joined the paper.” Jughead repeated flatly.“Surprised, Tim Burton?” Reggie's smirk grew even wider.“Surprised you can read,” Jughead snapped. Reggie took a quick step in his direction.“Play nice,” Betty said without looking up. “We literally just talked about this.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> A billion kudos to fulldark for a terrific job beta-ing! :D
> 
> Takes place as a slightly AU pre-episode 6ish, if you had to pinpoint canon.

Tuesdays were not Jughead's most favorite of days. For one thing, the day held none of the novelty of a Monday nor the relief of an impending Friday. The school cafeteria implemented its 'meatless initiative' on Tofu Tuesdays, serving something that he would hesitate to label _lasagna,_ or even _fit for human consumption._ Coach Clayton had them run laps on Tuesdays. Math pop quizzes were Tuesdays. 

And now this. 

Jughead stood in the doorway of the Blue and Gold, eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. Betty, her familiar golden ponytail swaying as she leaned over the desk, pointing at the layout with the end of her red editing pencil. Perfect. Gorgeous. Right. 

Reggie Mantle, leaning back across the table, dark hair nearly brushing her shoulder as he gestured, made a mark with his own pencil on a headline. Betty made a sudden face, scrunching up her nose in a rabbity way that Jughead loved. Reggie laughed. 

It was the laugh that did it- the same kind of laugh Reggie used when he'd come up with a particularly droll pop culture put down for him. Jughead might have said a word, then- it might have been a 'hey,' or 'huh,' or 'what's up,' or maybe even a 'what the hell,' but probably, in hindsight, it came out as more of a wordless little grunt of indignation. 

“Hey, Jug,” Betty said carelessly, waving a hand in greeting. “I brought some cookies for the meeting today- I made two tubs so go crazy. Everyone else is running a little late because of Debate and Forensics. Oh, and Reggie's joined the paper.” 

Jughead put his book bag slowly down on a nearby chair and perched on the edge of the desk. Reggie smirked at him, arms crossed. 

“Reggie's joined the paper.” Jughead repeated flatly. 

“Football season's over,” Betty said, flipping through the rough copy with a light frown as she marked another typo. “He's helping with the event coverage for Winter Formal and Spring Sports.” 

“Surprised, Tim Burton?” Reggie's smirk grew even wider. And was it his imagination, or had Reggie slid a half an inch closer to Betty just then? 

“Surprised you can read,” Jughead snapped. Reggie took a quick step in his direction. 

“Play nice,” Betty said without looking up. “We literally just talked about this.” 

Reggie clicked his tongue against his teeth, disappointed. He pushed past Jughead roughly with his shoulder, walking to the calendar of events at the back corner behind the photography table. Jughead stepped up close to Betty, leaning over her shoulder as she worked. He did not notice how sweetly her shampoo smelled of strawberries or how soft the loose strands of her hair felt against his cheek when he leaned in close. He was mad, dammit. Glancing over, he caught Reggie's eye, the ghost of a grin. Jughead tried not inhaling too deeply. 

“Are you serious?” He asked in a low, harsh whisper. 

“Look,” Betty put down the paper and turned to meet his eyes. There was only a matter of a few inches between them. Jughead fought to maintain his glare. Betty spoke quietly but loud enough so that Reggie could hear, if he were so inclined. “This is an extracurricular. I don't get to say who can be here and who can't. My parents might run The Register, but Reggie’s dad owns it. If he really wants to help, we could certainly use it. Even with Kevin on photography and Ethel helping, this paper is 90% me and you.” 

“What's wrong with that?” Jughead asked, leaning back against the other desk. He was annoyed to find that his voice held a slight note of injury. She'd asked him to join, for crying out loud. This was their baby. In a totally not relationshippy, romanticy kind of way. 

He was getting kind of bad at this. 

Betty rolled her eyes. “It's time consuming, that's what! I feel like I'm writing or editing or running off to this event or that event all the time- it's a lot, Jug. Someone willing to do sports write ups, maybe some puff pieces, help with editing... it would really take a lot off my shoulders. If he does anything- _anything_ to you, I hope you know that I won’t stand for it.” Her huge eyes pleaded with him. He looked away. 

“I edit.” Jughead sounded more than a little hurt. 

“You made Ethel _cry_.”

“The Oxford Comma is an essential part of Standard Written English,” Jughead insisted. 

“And I say it's archaic and unnecessary for precise language,” Betty responded sweetly, marking the end of his nose with her red grease pencil. He scrabbled at the mark with his sleeve, scowling. “I told him to behave with the more senior staff, so do the same. If he doesn't, I'll report him to the Bee and he won't be able to contribute anymore. Everything's hunky-dory.” 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Cause real people say that,” he muttered. Then he dodged another grease pencil attack. 

“Hey, Unibomber.”

“What's up, Beetlejuice?” 

“Welcome to the party, Norman Bates.” 

It had always helped to think of Reggie Mantle desperately Googling 90's counterculture references each morning on the off chance that they crossed paths. At least now that their forcible partnership was continuing on a bi-weekly basis, Reggie was sure to have to start digging pretty deep. 

No, it wasn't the names. It wasn't the crude gestures or the side glances or the smirks. And Reggie hadn't come within a three foot radius of Jughead since Betty's verbal warning. It was a little bizarre how they would sit, working together, Betty handing articles, research and photographs back between the two boys who sat either side of her, studiously ignoring each other. Which basically _was_ the problem. 

The third time Reggie asked to see the close up of the Homecoming Court Nominee photo and accidentally on purpose brushed his thumb gently across the back of Betty's hand, Jughead stood up and calmly walked out of the room. 

Well. Calmly except for that chair that fell over. And the fact that his jaw was clenched to keep him from snarling. And the fact that he'd forgotten his bag- basically his entire _world_ in that room, tucked up under the desk. And he might have kicked a trashcan. 

Fuck. 

He'd have to go back. 

But going back meant _talking about it_ and big blue eyes because _that's what friends do, Juggie_ and he was not in the mood to confess his feelings to an oblivious blonde because he'd been jealous over some lunk football playing rich kid wannabe writer type and fuck, fuck, fuck it. And even if Betty didn't like Reggie like that (she liked _Archie_ like that, right, because _Arch_ is at least a good guy when he's not being the absolute worst) but if this is one more way to get under Jughead's skin, he'd bet the good money his family didn't have anymore that Reggie Mantle would take that all the way to the bank. 

But Betty wasn't in the office. It was just Reggie. Jughead let out every breath he'd ever breathed and he didn't know if it was relief or disappointment. 

“Done with your little temper tantrum, Sweeney Todd?” Reggie didn't look up from the mock pages he was putting together. 

“Why are you doing this?” Jughead asked before he knew he was going to. 

“Because this has to go to print in three hours or it won't go out on time and our Chief Editor's off looking for some emo loser who threw a fucking fit for no reason.” Reggie didn't sound angry, just preoccupied. Jughead glanced down. The layout was messy- haphazard. Reggie moved the headline a quarter inch to the right. 

“It's too far up the page. It'll encroach on the byline.” Jughead said without meaning to. 

Reggie let out a frustrated little huff of air but adjusted the layout accordingly. 

“And that wasn't what I meant,” Jughead added. 

“You're the genius, you tell me.” Reggie's brow knit in concentration. 

“I'm no Dilton or Betty.” Jughead said lightly. 

Reggie began fixing the template with scotch tape. He worked in slow measure, hands spooling out the tape carefully so that he didn't leave fingerprints on the underside. 

“Alice Cooper came up with the bright idea of having a kid’s essay writing contest for the Register. Probably figured she'd just beat Polly or Betty into turning out some soulless Girl Scout garbage and sweeping that Barnes and Nobles gift card, I guess. _My Greatest Loss,_ I think the topic was. Something like that. My Dad thought it was just the best. He kept talking about what a 'great opportunity' it was. So I pretended I was sick. I spent three days home writing and rewriting and rewriting until I had the perfect essay. I even got my Mom to drop it off at the office so Dad wouldn't know it was mine. I was so sure that I did the best job because who else was gonna put in that kind of work?” 

Jughead felt a little queasy. He swallowed and leaned against the desk nearest the door, trying to look nonchalant. He could see his backpack. Reggie was in front of his backpack. But Reggie still wasn't looking at him. 

“You missed school, too. Some punk ass teenager hit your dog with his car. Left him to die. You wrote a little essay about it, cause Betty said it was a good way to get the feelings out. You wrote it in fifteen minutes, waiting for the bus. My dad said it was the best fucking thing he ever read. He said you were a fucking genius.” 

They stood uncomfortably in the silence. The only sound was the occasional soft whir of the tape dispenser under Reggie's fingers. 

“What'd you write your essay about?” Jughead picked a piece of lint off his coat. 

Reggie laughed. “A T-ball game, I think.” 

Jughead, at a loss for words, walked over to pick up his backpack off the floor but stopped at the desk. He was closer to Reggie than he ever really voluntarily moved, but he wasn't paying attention to that for once. His Spidey Senses were not tingling and he was not afraid. 

The desktop was littered with articles. They were Reggie's. Swimming match, Homecoming, Indoor track regional meet- and one a little separate. Jughead picked it up. It was short- maybe only a few hundred words, not much more than a blurb. Buried on page six at the bottom kind of thing. It was about Jason Blossom, about being part of a team when a teammate is missing- about replacing that absences with a gear that never quite sits right, never quite fits.  
Behind him, Reggie stilled. 

“Do you even like writing?” Jughead mused. 

Reggie took the article from him gently. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. I know you think I'm some dumb jock-” 

Jughead laughed, but it was not a nice laugh. “And you think I'm some murderous molester, so-” 

Reggie scoffed. “That's what you're going for, isn't it?” 

Jughead fell silent, dumbfounded. His shoulders raised, squared a little. Tensed. 

“This whole- Ponyboy and the Outsiders shit. You want to be wrong side of the tracks, _dark and troubled teen?_ This is your jam, fucker. Watch your slasher movies, blast your death metal and do all your book reports on true crime novels- this is the life you get.” Reggie waved his hand dismissively. 

“You think I'm doing this for the attention.” Jughead said tonelessly.

“You weren't like this in fifth grade.” said Reggie. 

“I was winning essay contests in fifth grade,” Jughead replied coolly. 

Jughead walked up to Reggie and looked him in the eye. Reggie stayed perfectly still, but his hands were fists at his sides. What did Jughead see there? What was Reggie, exactly? A scared punk kid full of insecurities? An overgrown jock with more muscle than brains? 

Nah. Just some guy he used to know pretty well. They grew apart, though. Now they don't know each other at all. 

Jughead picked up the article on Jason and looked it over again. He held out a hand expectantly as he read. Hesitantly, Reggie put his red editing pencil into Jughead's open palm. Jughead made a few notes- wrote a few words in the margins- _elaborate, mixed metaphor, new paragraph break here-_

He slapped the article and the pencil into Reggie's chest and met his eyes. 

“Rework it for next week,” Jughead said. “Make it fifteen hundred words.” 

Reggie's eyes narrowed. “That's too long.”

“Not for a feature.” Jughead bent to pick up his backpack. 

“How's Bossy Betsy going to take you deciding that on your own?” Reggie asked, a trace of cockiness slipping back into his voice. 

“Betty trusts me.” Jughead said, turning to go. 

Reggie stepped between him and the door. His expression conflicted, his eyes glared down at Jughead, then rolled to the ceiling as he grimaced. Jughead waited. 

“Look, Betty is smoking hot and a cheerleader, so it's pretty obvious why she'd be into me over you, Vampire Weekend-”

“ _So_ not having this conversation,” Jughead muttered, stepping past- only for Reggie's hand to shoot out and stop him, albeit gently. 

“But unfortunately for her, she seems to like you best for some reason. And a girl that delusional isn't one I need to be chasing, you dig?” 

The tone was so dismissive that it took Jughead almost a full sixty second to register the words. 

_I need to be chasing_

He isn't chasing. He isn't chasing but he _thinks of it as chasing._

“You like her.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. A little amazed. Like after all this time and acting like a total jackass, the root cause of all this had somehow escaped him- that this wasn't about territory or anybody getting hurt, that this was essentially a high school boy who likes a high school girl who likes a different high school boy. A to B to C. Jughead knew he was about as blown away by being a C in this little triangle as Reggie must have been to be the A. He could see that in the way Reggie shifted in place almost imperceptibly, laughed without meeting his eyes, unconsciously made a little gesture with his left hand, the one not on Jughead's shoulder, that was half dismissive, half frustrated. 

“Veronica is, like, a ten. And Cheryl's the one to go for if you want really crazy girl shit, you know? Though probably she'd call you Jason right in the middle of-” 

“You _do_ like her.” Jughead's mouth quirked up. He couldn't help it- probably the right response here was to feel macho and jealous- Reggie was tall, athletic, popular, charismatic- he had money and with his dad, the Coopers would have to at least pretend to like him. No following him to the bathroom to make sure he didn't run off with the silver plate. Jughead’s previous feelings of inadequacy should be overwhelming him. 

And yet somehow it did not make him upset- it instead felt like he'd figured something out, something about Reggie that even Reggie didn't know. That somehow wanting to be around Betty and just enjoying her- not to score, not to hurt anybody, just because he _liked_ her and even if that didn't go anywhere that was okay- that that was somehow a little innocent. A little pure. 

Reggie finally looked up. Met Jughead's gaze squarely. 

“Well, yeah.” He said at last. “I like Betty. Doesn't everybody?” 

“They should,” Jughead agreed, folding his arms across his chest. 

When Betty came back, she saw the paper ready for final approval while Reggie and Jughead argued the merits of PC versus Console in the corner, but in the way that wasn't going to end in broken furniture and suspensions for everyone. She looked at them, eyes darting back and forth with suspicion and exasperation and fondness, too. And after Reggie waved goodbye and they started for home and temporary home, she turned her big eyes on him and asked “OK?”

“OK,” Jughead affirmed. 

“You want to talk about it?” She asked. 

“Later,” he promised. They walked side by side, arms brushing a little when they came together to avoid a tree branch or a stray branch or a crack in the sidewalk and _just do it, Jughead._

He reached out. Rubbed his thumb lightly against the back of her hand and she turned it, palm up, and he took it in his and they just walked, smiling at the sidewalk, all the way back. 

It was a Tuesday.

**Author's Note:**

> In the comics, Reg and Jug are frenemies. Even in the Road to Riverdale comic, Jughead mentions that he can't hang out with Reggie only because Reg is working at a country club all summer- implying that they were friends, at least off and on. Took that (and the fact that literally everyone should be in love with Lili Reinhart's Betty) and ran with it. Let me know if you liked it! Comments are my lifeblood.


End file.
